


I Like You a Latte

by moonstruckbucky



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky is on the mend, Coffee Shops, F/M, Fluff, Mentions of PTSD, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 03:59:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19034329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonstruckbucky/pseuds/moonstruckbucky
Summary: Bucky is a frequent flyer at the coffee shop you work for.





	I Like You a Latte

The bell over the door tinkles softly as a new customer walks in. A glance up at the clock on the wall shows 6 AM. The shop’s been open about an hour, and the morning rush is set to start soon.

“Be with you in a sec!” you call to the customer, your back to the door as you prepare another customer’s drink. You have two other employees scheduled to arrive any second, and you could use the help as the coffee shop gets busier.

Whirling on your feet, you slide the cup over to the waiting customer with a smile and a bright “come again!” before turning to the next in line. Your breathing stutters for a beat. _It’s him_. You should’ve known to expect him; he’s always in the shop at this time, hands in his pockets, hair shoved under a cap, and deep circles under his icy blue eyes. But you beam brightly at him, and he kind of returns it. It’s just a brief twitch of his lips but you’ll take it.

“Good morning! The usual?”  _Large black, two sugars._

“Please.” His voice is scratchy, sleep-deprived, and you feel a small tug in your chest. His teeth gnaw on his bottom lip as his eyes drift over the pastry case. “And a blueberry scone, please.”

“Sure thing. That’ll be $5.40.” He hands you a ten, tells you to keep the change with a small downward nod. You smile back and turn away to prepare his order.

As you work, your eyes continuously drift back to the man who’s taken a seat in the corner, back to the wall and eyes on the front windows. He comes in regularly, always alone, and always orders the same thing. You’ve made suggestions before, but he turns every one of them down. There’s mystery about him, not only in the cautious way he carries himself but in the haunted look in his eyes, as if they’ve seen far too much horror and not enough light.

He slips out of the cafe sometime during the morning rush and you sigh quietly to yourself before returning to work.

It happens that way for the next week. He comes in for his usual, sits down, leaves when it gets busy. The only thing that changes is the darkness of the circles under his eyes. They’re getting darker, aging his handsome face by years, and you wonder idly how long it’s been since he’s slept. With a brief lull in the cafe, you watch him a little longer.

His broad shoulders are rigid and straight, eyes on the alert as they scan the shop and analyze every person who walks through the door. You imagine he must have been in the armed forces, probably suffering from some form of PTSD. Someone brushes by him, steadying herself on his shoulder, and you gasp as he flinches—badly. The woman takes one look at him, at his wide eyes, and scurries away.

Like a balloon, the man deflates rapidly, shoulders hunching as he curls in on himself. Your heart beats painfully in your chest and you long to reach out and embrace him, just to show him he isn’t alone. But, judging by his reaction to being touched, you don’t think that’s such a good idea.

Before you can come up with something, he’s out of his chair, throwing his garbage away, and exiting the store in a broody dark cloud.

It comes to you as you’re lounging in your apartment later that afternoon. Your shift ended at 2, so you picked up some lunch on your way home and parked yourself on the couch. Your laptop in your lap, you scroll through a coffee blog looking for new flavor ideas when you suddenly stop scrolling. A bright smile overtakes your face, and you can’t wait for your shift on Monday.

You spend the weekend practicing, having gone out and bought the necessary materials. It isn’t perfect, but it’ll do.

By the time your shift starts Monday morning, you’re practically bouncing in anticipation. Your coworker, Maddie, can’t stop giggling and rolling her eyes, and when the bell chimes and  _he_ walks in, she pokes you repeatedly in the side. A sharp jerk of her head in the direction of the door. A sudden quickening of your heart and a flutter of nerves in your belly.

This could go one of two ways, and you’re praying for it to go right. He steps up to the counter, looking as haggard as ever, and it just plain breaks your heart to see him in such a state. You offer a soft smile, one he doesn’t return, and he recites his order.

Game time. Inhaling, you ask quietly, “Can I make a suggestion?”

He blinks at you.

“We, um, we have a new latte flavor. Creme brulee? It’s really good. Not too sweet. Would you like to try it?” You refrain from biting your lip as you wait for his answer. His eyes shift around a little, nervous and fidgety. He looks back at you and nods once. You smile in relief and ring in his order. He, once again, leaves you a generous tip.

“You can take a seat. I’ll bring it to you.”

He turns sharply on his heel and strides to his usual table. _Definitely former military._ You turn away to begin his drink and the butterflies are set loose again as you steam milk.

The sun you create with the milk isn’t perfect, but it’s good enough. It dances as you carry it to his table. He’s scribbling in a small, leather journal that he snaps shut as you approach. You smile briefly as you set down the cup, and your getaway is hasty. You can’t fathom the embarrassment if you had to look him in the eye when he sees your doodle.

You begin organizing the sugar and creamer station with your back to him to keep yourself from watching him like a creep. Once you round the counter you chance a glance over at him. He’s staring down at the cup, eyes wide and a little shiny, and his lips are twitching.  _Holy shit_.

You added the text _You’re a Star_  at the last second, but you’d hoped the joke would register. Clearly it has, and you look away rapidly as he turns his head to find you. Your cheeks warm as you feel his gaze burning into you, but you pretend not to notice as you begin another customer’s order.

It goes like that for the next couple of weeks. When he comes in, he gives you a small smile that you’re pleased to see reach his eyes. It lights up his entire face and you silently revel in the secret game the two of you have. Each time it’s a different doodle with a different joke.

You even got a chuckle for your boat doodle with the phrase:  _Need an Ark? I Noah guy_ circling it. You discover he has a wonderful laugh and a radiant smile, and slowly, as the puns get worse (better in his silent opinion) and the smiles more genuine, the circles beneath his eyes grow lighter and lighter. You wonder if your jokes improve his mood so much that he’s actually sleeping better.

You get your answer when he enters one morning with a literal bounce in his step. It throws you for a loop a little, unused to seeing him as anything but the broody, sad stranger who likes his coffee black. Without a word he saunters up to the counter and slides a piece of paper across the surface to you. With a smile fighting to break through, you pick up the paper and read it. A surprised laugh passes through your lips.

_I seem to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours?_

When you glance up, he’s watching you, a smile on his face but uncertainty in his blue eyes. Feeling a small surge of confidence, you plant a hand on your hip and tilt your head.

“I’ll give you my number if I can have your name,” you say lightly. Pink gathers in his cheeks and you can’t help but giggle at how adorable it is. His right hand slowly extends over the counter.

“I’m Bucky.”


End file.
